Goodness
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: A rewrite of the scene where Richard talks about going to bed with a glass of whiskey. Isobel tries to persuade him that he's too young to settle for that. OC, AU and so very unlikely.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm sorry, but I felt this had to be written. This is a silly, out of character, alternate universe re-write of that gorgeous scene where he talked about going to bed with a glass of whiskey. It was going to be a oneshot, but now it's a two-parter. It would never, and in fact it didn't, happen, but one can dream. Also, the second part's going to be smutty.**

"Goodness," she murmured, aware too late that her eyes had flitted shut- but perhaps that was the best way given the path that her thoughts had taken at his words- "I wondered what you were going to say for a moment."

The moment when she could have hidden those rather untoward thoughts passed like a shot the moment they made eye contact. She knew she had a glimmer in her eye- she wouldn't even have been that surprised to hear that her eyes had darkened with desire, thought goodness only knew it had been a good many years since that had last happened- she never could help it when she was about to laugh, especially nervously. It disconcerted her and pleased her in equal measure when she caught exactly the same look in his eyes. The sound of his warm laughter lingered in the air for a moment, and she smiled a little nervously.

"Gracious," he smiled at her, "I wonder what you can mean, Mrs Crawley?"

Having narrowly avoided choking on her drink, she gave him a _very _wry look over the rim of her glass.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd try to be coy with me, Dr. Clarkson," she remarked dryly, and received rather a knowing chuckle in reply.

"Really, Mrs Crawley-..."

"Oh, I do wish you'd call me Isobel," she told him, "At least when we're alone together."

"Alright," he smiled gratefully at her, "Isobel. I mean it's very flattering of you in a way, I suppose," he continued, looking a little abashed.

"I haven't embarrassed you, have I?" she asked, only half apologising, her eyes telling his that she was half-seriously testing his mettle.

"Not at all," he replied, "It's just rather an amusing idea, that's all. That I should be off to bed with anything else."

There was a pause.

"Amusing how?" she asked, frowning.

"Well," he elaborated, his awkwardness beginning to show just a little now, "I begin to be feeling, at my age, rather as if I might be past all that by now. Don't you?"

"Certainly not," she replied with conviction, "I shouldn't think I'm past anything."

He raised quite an admiring eyebrow.

"I said that too quickly, didn't I?" she asked.

He smiled at her rather ruefully.

"I admire your spirit," he told her, taking another drink.

"Don't," she told him, stealing herself a little to say something daring, "Look to your own. Why feel old, Dr. Clarkson?"

"I would have hoped that if I'm going to call you Isobel, you'll call me Richard," he told her.

"Alright, Richard, then," she agreed, "But that's not the point. Why should you feel old? I take it there's nobody telling you to. You're not an unattractive man, by any means, regardless of your age."

"Thank you, I think," he replied, a glint in his eye.

"I should say that you're just as likely to be able to have a lover as the next man. More likely, even, if it's me you're asking."

There was a heavy pause.

"Are you trying to tell me something, Isobel?" he half-teased.

She closed her eyes again, trying to recall the exact point at which it had started to sound like she was propositioning him.

"I'm sure that didn't come out quite right," she told him.

He smiled at her understandingly.

"Probably not," he agreed.

"All I mean is," she began again, trying desperately to decide just precisely what it was that she meant, "I wouldn't have thought your best years were entirely behind you," she finished, fairly diplomatically, she thought, given the circumstances.

"Then, thank you," he told her, "That's quite a compliment, coming so sincerely. And from you."

"Meaning that I'm famed for insincere compliments?" she ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he scoffed, realising that she was joking, "Meaning that I value any compliment from you. Truly."

They were quiet for a moment. She finished off her drink, putting the empty glass down on the table beside her.

"Would you like me to fill you up?" he asked.

She had to brace herself very thoroughly not to explode at the double meaning. _Goodness, Isobel, you haven't been this coarse since you were nineteen!_

"No, I'm quite alright," she replied, "For the moment."

"So you don't think of yourself as old, then?" he asked, "If you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't mind, if you tell me truthfully: do you think I'm old?" she asked.

"No," he replied swiftly, "I think you're remarkable."

She felt herself flush a little, noticing how he complimented her just as much with his eyes as his words; unless she was imagining it he appeared to be very much drinking in the sight of her. His eyes alone would have lit up the blackest night like beacons. Feeling her flush deepen she sought to distract herself; she couldn't afford to feel this flustered or she would completely lose her composure.

"I won't ask you to comment on the likelihood of my getting myself a lover," she told him flatly, "Or then I _will_ embarrass you."

He gave her a small smile.

"Isobel," he murmured in a surprising low, and she thought, serious voice, "I'd say you were just as likely to get a lover as I am."

She felt a lump form in her throat.

"Would you?" she asked, her voice surprising, and appalling, her with its high pitch.

"Exactly as likely," he replied.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**And here's the smut.**

It was really rather difficult to play that compliment- or indeed its implications- down. Impossible, even. So she decided she wasn't going to even try.

"What are you saying, Richard?" she asked him testily, very thankful to discover that her voice had dropped down an octave and returned to its usual pitch.

"Well-..." his cheeks coloured noticeably, and he looked a little bit awkward for a moment.

Perhaps she had been rather too blunt in her acceptance of his compliment; rather more direct that he was willing to be at the moment.

"I don't mean to sound reproachful," she explained softly, "I only wondered what you meant by that."

"I think you know what I meant," he replied smartly, and she was grateful to see that a little bit of a knowing glimmer had returned to his eye.

She smiled at him in reply.

"Yes, I think I probably did too," she told him.

He was quiet for a few moments, inspecting the bottom of his glass.

"You're very beautiful, Mrs Crawley," he said quite suddenly, a frown of what she could only suppose was earnestness creasing his brow.

"Isobel," she corrected him gently.

He shook his head slowly, telling her that it had been deliberate.

"I thought it would be too much," he explained, "To call you that and then tell you that you're beautiful in the same breath. Too forward of me, anyway."

"No," she replied softly, "You were quite wrong. I'm not averse to forwardness, as you well know."

"Even on such a subject as this?" he asked.

She did not know what had made him so shy, all of a sudden, except the thought that she had pushed him too far too quickly. Well, there was no turning back now as far as she was concerned. She didn't think there was much point in hiding what she was rapidly beginning to want now.

"Even on such a subject," she assured him, "Provided that the time is right."

There was a pause for a moment.

"Isobel?" he began quietly, "You're very beautiful."

She felt herself beaming at him.

"There," she whispered, "That wasn't difficult, was it?" she asked him, reaching across the gap that separated the two of them, to brush his face; placating his uneasiness, thanking him for his praise, trying to assuage his fear.

"No, it wasn't," he confessed, "After all it cost me nothing to say it. Would you mind if I came and sat beside you?" he asked.

"Not at all," she replied.

He had asked the question before she could fully withdraw her hand from his face, so it transpire that she half guided him to sit beside her, very close to her, so that their knees touched and still her hand lingered by his face, then fell to rest on his chest. This, she was sure, was what gave him the courage to put his arms around her, drawing her body comfortably closer to his. She let out a low breath that was halfway to a moan, just loud enough to be audible to him.

"I think you're wrong though," she told him quietly but firmly, "I was never beautiful. I've just managed to cling onto my appearance longer than most women do."

"Don't make things up," he admonished gently.

"I'm not," she replied truthfully, "I never felt beautiful, not really. Not when I wasn't dressed up nicely, and that doesn't count."

"You're beyond compare, Isobel," he told her, and she saw from his eyes that he was far from joking with her now, "Not just the way you look, though quite frankly I could look at you forever. What you say; the wonderfully obstinate way you think; the way you care for everyone. Hasn't anyone ever told you?"

"Never quite so directly," she replied, "Not in so many words."

"Perhaps I've had one too many drinks," he acknowledged, "But it's still true. Only I'm brave enough to say it."

His arms were still around her and with the vehemence of his sentiments, the strength with he held her seemed to grow. By now she was quite pressed against him.

"Richard," she whispered, biting back a smile looking into his eyes not quite tentatively, "I would like it very much if you kissed me now."

Gently, chastely, he pressed his lips up against hers.

"Richard," she admonished in barely more than a breath, "_Kiss _me. I want you to kiss me."

This time he kissed her properly, hungrily, as she had sensed he wanted to before. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands tangling happily in his hair as he the small of her back to press her to him. Parting her lips, she invited him to explore her mouth and she felt him respond eagerly. The teasing, the compliments, gently winding each other up- everything this evening seemed to have led up to this; and now that it had begun she wasn't altogether sure if she was going to be able to stop.

When they broke apart, her arms draped lazily over his shoulders, and she bowed her head a little, quite short of breath. She felt his thumb gently slip under her chin and lift her head to look at him. Their eyes met, and she understood there and then that stopping was going to be impossible. She wouldn't send him away; she could have gladly stayed forever in the warmth of his arms, the heavy rhythm of his breath, watching his eyes bore back into hers. He was setting her on fire, and she loved it. She was in love with it.

"Richard," she murmured, realising that she had unconsciously moved so that her legs covered his- she was effectively sitting in his lap- "I don't want you to stop."

She saw his eyes widen questioningly.

"Please," she emphasised the word, knowing he was seeking definite permission, "Don't stop. Take me up to bed if you like, but promise me you won't stop."

"You want me to be your lover?" he asked, making her smile by referring to their earlier conversation. Now it seemed to have taken place on another evening altogether.

"My lover," she repeated, emphasising the verb, pausing, allowing herself to confess, "I think I'm in love with you, Richard."

He got to his feet, holding his hand out to her. She took it, following him a little unsteadily; her blood seeming to be rushing to her head and around her body all at once.

"Are you alright?" he asked her as they reached the drawing room door.

"Perfectly," she replied.

He brought the hand he held to his lips, kissing her knuckles twice.

"I love you," he told her, before opening the door and leading her up the stairs.

"The second door on the left," she directed him as they reached the landing.

They lay down on her bed together, sinking into the softness of sheets and pillows, as they sank back into each others embrace.

"I love you," he told her again, kissing her face and her jaw, seeming not to tire of saying it, "I love you so much."

His hands deftly freed her from her dress and she kicked it haphazardly off the bed, far too distracted by his lips nuzzling her collarbone, down to the top of her corset. She felt her body arch further into his touch as he held her hips very tenderly.

"Make love to me, my darling," she asked him, "Please, Richard."

She heard him groan, kissing her cleavage at the top of her corset. Gently, she hooked her legs around his as he undid the fastenings of her and discarded it in the same fashion as she had with her dress. It almost struck her to complain that the amounts of clothing they were each wearing was unfair, until he cupped both of her breasts in his hands, drawing them up to his mouth and kissing them both. The best she could do was moan plaintively.

"Richard, I want to touch you too," she told him, as soon as her breathing had calm down.

He did not reply, and she caught the way he was looking at her, his eyes taking in the sight of her exposed breasts. She felt herself flush a deep red. He took both her hands in his, raised them to his lips again, kissed her palms lovingly.

"I was right," he told her, "You're beautiful."

He allowed her hands to fall to the buttons of his shirt, and she began hastily to undo them, freeing him from his bowtie, then pushing it and his jacket onto the floor. Before he could stop her, she made short work of his trouser buttons too, slipping her hand beneath the waistband of his underwear, finding his hard and ready for her.

"Isobel," he groaned, feeling her push his undershorts and trousers down, wrapping her hand firmly around him, "You-... Oh, Isobel!"

She smiled, seeing the reaction she was able to draw from him as she moved her hand slowly but firmly.

"Please," he groaned, "Isobel, stop! Or I'll be-..."

"Yes, I see," she complied, withdrawing her hand, "You want to-..."

"Yes," he replied, regaining his breath and pushing his trouser and shorts off properly, "I want to be able to give you some pleasure too."

"Oh, believe him," she told him, not quite believing how husky her voice sounded, "That was wonderful for me to watch. You're a very beautiful man, Richard. Especially, when-"

"Isobel," he murmured, drawing her knickers down and off, slipping his hand gently between her legs, pressing a finger then another into her.

"Yes," she gasped in surprise, "When you moan like that."

She closed her eyes against the feeling he was creating, rubbing her nub with his thumb as he pressed his fingers more firmly into her. She truly gasped in shock when she felt his lips on her as well, parting her with his tongue, sucking, humming against her, creating the most delicious feelings.

"Richard," she barely had time to warn him as she felt her body begin to tremble, to stiffen out of her control.

"It's alright," he told her.

It was too late for her to stop and she knew he knew it, continuing to stroke her as she called his name.

"Now," she told him, she demanded, "I want you inside me while I'm like this. Please, Richard."

She gasped in relief as he complied.

"Yes," she told him, "Oh, darling, more."

She buried her face in his skin, feeling his warm breath on her breasts as he rocked his pelvis into hers. Her hands tangled further into his hair, cradling his head as she felt the warmth building again between her legs; tightening into a knot of pleasure and suddenly bursting violently into bliss that caused her to throw her head back and blackened her vision. The last thing she could remember feeling was his release inside her and she gasped in relief and renewed pleasure that he had finally let himself go.

He was the first one to move; scooping his arm around her and bringing her to lie pressed against her. She could feel from the very movement of his arm that he was happy.

"Do you still feel past all of this?" she asked, "Because I can assure you, you are not."

She heard and felt him chuckle gently.

"It took you to convince me," he returned.

"Yes, well," she replied a little dryly, recalling his words from earlier, "I'm remarkable."

He chuckled again.

"You are," he agreed, pausing for a moment, "And I love you, Isobel. I didn't just say that to-..."

"To get me into bed," she supplied for him.

"Quite. I-..." he seemed to struggle for words, "I wouldn't have wanted to if I didn't. Can you believe that?" he asked.

"Yes I can," she replied, "Because you are the very best of men, Richard. And I'm so proud to call you my lover."

She kissed his lips briefly, settling more snugly into his arms.

"Stay with me all night?" she asked, feeling almost shy about it, knowing it would be quite sensible of him to leave her house early, before anyone saw him there, "Be here when I wake up."

"I wouldn't leave you now for the world," he told her.

"I love you," she told him in reply, "Goodnight, my darling."

"Goodnight," he replied, leaning over to switch off the bedside light.

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time.**


End file.
